


Like a Princess at a Ball

by justinlovesart



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-06
Updated: 2010-10-06
Packaged: 2017-10-12 11:21:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justinlovesart/pseuds/justinlovesart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daphne needs no prince, but a prince might need her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Princess at a Ball

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the girlsavesboyfic challenge on LJ.

They were beautiful.

There was no doubt of that. In fact, they were...what was that word Brian always used, mostly about himself? The one that Justin liked to repeat – enunciate it, in fact - when they were alone. Oh, yes, they were _dazzling_.

So what about this barely perceptible pang she'd felt throughout their dance, like a silent buzz in a small recess of her heart, the one that made her doubt her own smile, her sincere and complete happiness for Justin?

She was glad for him; delighted; thrilled. All that was real.

But now, as the last notes of that corny song where quieting down and Justin followed Brian (or was it the other way around?) out of the room like a beam of light that could not travel fast enough - not even one tiny backward glance -the dull pang started to hurt a little, and she tried to push away the thought that she and Justin hadn't danced all night. Really danced, that is.

It's not as if she wasn't used to fading into the background the moment "the face of God" appeared on the scene. And to be fair, she'd been the one who'd encouraged Justin to invite Brian to their prom night, although now she wasn't quite sure what she'd expected the reply to be.

Fine, so perhaps she'd not been completely devastated when Justin had told her that Brian had turned him down.

"You and me, then" she'd said, gently, "like old times."

"Like old times," he'd nodded enthusiastically, but the smile hadn't quite reached his eyes.

But they'd had fun after all, getting all dressed up and then laughing at their ridiculous classmates, at the cheesy music, while reminding each other how prettier than anybody else they looked. So when Brian had arrived she'd been caught off guard, too, although more by Justin's surprise than by her own. By Justin's smile, mostly.

Then they'd danced, and they'd been beautiful.

She had no doubt she'd been happy for him.

And now, when she finally looked away from the empty doorway and glanced around, she knew that at least she had the attention of the rest of the school. Indeed. Look at those silly classmates who wouldn't give her the time of the day coming close to her, with their fake grins and paper cups filled with laced punch. Talking to her, even. Calling her by her first name!

"Who was _that_?"

"Is it Taylor's boyfriend?"

"How old?" "How rich?" "How hot!"

"But weren't you and Justin together?"

Daphne smiled mysteriously (she's spent a weekend perfecting her Mona Lisa when Justin went through his Renaissance phase) and milking the reflected glory for all its worth: for herself, for Justin and for all the humiliations great and small they were about to leave behind for good.

Nodding left and right like a demure princess attending her debutante ball, she gave away as little as possible; just enough to make the attention last but not to seem to care ("Yes, I've met him before, several times in fact"...."In Babylon, the club. Have you been? On Liberty Avenue?") And while doing so, two thoughts occurred to her: first, that her shoes were starting to hurt her feet, despite the ridiculously low heels (when you've worn flats all your life it all adds up); second, that Chris Hobbs looked seriously pissed off.

The second thought surprised her more than she'd expected. It wasn't as if there weren't as many sour faces as intrigued ones around her. Justin and Brian's little show had annoyed at least as much as it had amused, or even turned on a few (the Farnshaw twins looked particularly excited, god bless their freckled hearts). But Hobbs's glare, obfuscated by his private glaze and yet strangely fixed on the door Brian and Justin had walked through just a few minutes ago, had something that went beyond indignation and dislike.

Sure, she'd seen it before, directed at her, although more often than not immediately and carefully concealed; and she'd learnt – or rather, she'd been taught - from a very young age how to pretend it didn't exist and avoid those who expressed it more openly.

Now here it was again, in Hobbs's eyes, a layer so strong she couldn't imagine him seeing anything beyond it. It made her feel a different kind of pang, one that from the little corner of her heart moved to the pit of her stomach and made her hold her breath. She had to look away, to tune out the music and the sounds of her new-found popularity.

But she looked back again when she realized that Hobbs had broken his unnatural stillness, in time to see him rush out of the hall and into the corridor. Without a second thought, she followed.

When she entered the corridor he'd almost disappeared beyond the door of the stairwell, clearly too much in a hurry to wait for the elevator, which seemed to be stuck on the top floor. She pressed the button a few times, but nothing happened, so she decided to follow down the stairs, most likely to the parking lot.

But first, she took off her shoes.

So there she was, stealthily running down a filthy and narrow staircase in her lovely new frock, one open-toe pump held tightly in each hand, chasing after a closeted homophobic teenager who wanted...what exactly? To shout out all-too-predictable insults at Justin? Spray a demented slur all over Brian's Jeep? Glare at them both until they became straight?

 _And what am I supposed to do, anyway?_ she asked herself, almost laughing at the inanity of her pursuit. But fuck if she was going to let the asshole ruin Justin's night.

She reached the end of the stairwell just as Hobbs let the door to the parking garage close behind him. He was only a few steps ahead, and Daphne saw him scan frantically around the cars until he saw what he'd been looking for. Then he went perfectly still, as if he'd stopped breathing. She looked in the same direction and for a second she forgot why she was there, smiling at the old pang in her heart and at the beauty of a white scarf.

It was only a moment, though, because Hobbs started to move again, although not in Justin's direction. She recognized his brand new convertible (daddy's graduation present he'd been bragging about for days) and when she saw him take the keys out of his pocket, she breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe the drama was over and he was going to take his disgusted homophobic ass home, so she could go back and enjoy what was left of her fag-hag glory.

Instead, he opened the trunk of the car and started to rummage through it, looking for something. That damn spray can, just as she'd thought!

But it wasn't a spray can he was holding when he turned around, with a grip so hard his knuckles had turned white.

Daphne moved closer, eyes on the baseball bat; then she looked up into Hobbs's eyes, now red and blind with a rage that should have frightened her, but didn't. She raised her little shoes in front of her, small but spiky heels brandished as weapons, but she schooled her face to look as calm as possible.

"Chris," she said, quite softly, and nothing else. She hoped Justin would not hear anything.

She never knew whether it was the surprise, or the fear that she might cry, or the terror those sparkly, fierce shoes had put into his heart; perhaps it was the fact that she'd called him by name, but whatever the reason, Hobbs dropped the bat and the echo of its fall was the sound she would most remember about that night.

A second later she heard Brian's engine start and then Hobbs's car. The noise covered her own heartbeat long enough to let her catch her breath, right until Justin saw her. By then, she'd kicked away the baseball bat as far away as possible.

"Daphne? What are you doing here?" Justin was holding onto the ends of the scarf as if it could take flight any moment. "Why are you carrying your shoes?" he laughed, but he seemed puzzled, too, and a little worried.

 _Good_ , she tought, _his turn to be worried._ "Oh, I was just going to see if I had any flat ones in the car. These are pinching."

"But your car is one floor up."

She faked surprise. "Really? Gosh, that's why I couldn't find it!"

They laughed together and Justin made old jokes that had to do with her dizziness, jokes that were theirs alone.

"But why are _you_ still here, anyway?" she asked, finally aware of the strangest of turns in this night full of surprises.

Justin put his arm around her and started to walk towards the building.

"We haven't danced, yet," he said, simply. "Really danced, I mean."

And the pang was gone.


End file.
